The Delegate
by redisaid
Summary: A new representative of vampire royalty steals the show at Princess Bubblegum's royal gala. A slightly AU take on how Princess Bubblegum and Marceline first met.


She'd forgotten her name. Somewhere in the scraping of teeth, in the red trails left behind by the nails that raked her back and thighs, she'd lost it. She felt bad about it for just a moment, but a wordless cry worked just as well as the name she wanted to sigh instead. Learning it again would be her first priority, though—after she regained control of her limbs and her breathing.

Laughter, deep yet light, stopped her.

Bubblegum looked over to find the new queen of the vampires laughing as she laid down next to her. Her hair, considerably less in order than it had been only a short time ago, pooled inky black around her. She caught the princess staring. "You don't do this often, do you?" she asked.

This? Becoming suddenly infatuated with a stranger? Stealing away with them up to her room in the middle of an important function? Finding herself in bed with them after knowing them just a few hours? No. She'd never done anything like this. She just wished that wasn't so painfully obvious. "Not really, no," she answered.

"You're adorable when you blush, Bonnie."

Great. The queen already knew her name well enough to feel like she could shorten it. The heat welling up in her cheeks was becoming unbearable. "Well I'm glad that involuntary reactions of my sympathetic nervous system provide you with such great entertainment Lady–"

"Please. After we just did, you can at least call me Marceline."

Success! That's right. Marceline the vampire queen. It even rhymed. How could she have forgotten that? Bubblegum turned to face her. That mess of silky black hair worming its way into the folds of her sheets looked so inviting. She wanted to wrap her hands in it again, but wasn't sure if that was at all appropriate. Well, she was pretty sure this whole evening was entirely the opposite of appropriate, but she was too far into it to start worrying. She settled for the tip of a stray lock that had wandered onto her pillow and gently wove it between her fingers.

"Marceline." It was nice say. The name felt musical, almost like a little piece of a song that it's owner wrote. "You're right," Bubblegum admitted. "I don't do things like this."

Her laughter died down to a chuckle. She smiled and sunk fully into the pillow. "I can sorta tell. So why me then?"

Marceline's hair wasn't what she'd expected. It moved so fluidly. She had thought it was like a cat's—soft and sleek and light. It was still sleek and plenty soft enough, but heavy and thick. She knew it was definitely the wrong time to bring out a microscope to examine the unique keratin structures it must have held, but that was her first instinct. If this queen knew a little more about her, she might understand how flattering that was. "I have no idea," Bubblegum told her. "You're just—you're very interesting. Intensely interesting. You absolutely fascinate me and I can't really say why. You just do."

"It's not like you've never seen a vampire before. You've been dealing with that jerkoff I killed for this job for years," Marceline observed. Her hand slid up to meet Bubblegum's hair-laced fingers and rest lightly over them. Her nails had seemed like talons just moments ago. Delightful talons at that, but Bubblegum was surprised at how entirely normal they looked, medium in length, painted a lacquered black that even had a few visible chips in it.

Had she imagined claws? Did it matter? It didn't. She liked them either way. "You're very different from him—and in every possible positive way there is or ever could be."

The chuckles began a new, even deeper this time. "Sounds like someone has a crush on me."

"I think that's already been established."

They laughed together this time. Bubblegum slid her fingers between Marceline's. It was nice. This was nice. Whether it was worth the world of consequences that could come with it was another story. She'd figure that out later.

"Well, you're lucky that you're also pretty interesting," Marceline said.

Bubblegum just had to see. Her perception of this reality could be very clouded. Her mind still hadn't quite caught up to the evening's rash and, uh, stimulating actions and her hypothesis on this whole situation could be dead wrong. After all, people who do these sort of things do them because they don't really hold much meaning to them, right? They collect their things and leave shortly thereafter. She didn't want that. She wanted to stay here—for both of them to stay.

She could test it. She could run a very brief experiment that would tell her exactly how much longer this would last. She almost didn't want to, but she had to know. She closed the distance between them with a kiss. A gentle kiss, nothing like the raw, needy ones she had delivered throughout the night.

When she pulled away, she honestly expected another laugh. She expected teasing to cover an awkward move to the side of the bed and more laughter to accompany the search for her leather pants. Who wears leather pants to formal function anyway? Honestly.

She didn't get any of that, though. She was pulled back in. Feather light kisses were deposited on her lips, on the tip of her nose, between her brows. "You taste like really sweet fruit punch. That's so awesome," Marceline whispered as she peppered more along the curve of Bubblegum's jaw.

"I don't want to go back to the ball," the princess told her.

Marceline moved up to her ear, then back down to her neck. "Then let's not."

And to think, just hours earlier she had been sitting on her throne, absorbed in the pomp and circumstance of this royal gala and the pressures of hosting it. Peppermint hadn't even told her there was a new delegate representing the vampires this year. She wasn't sure if he even knew, or if anyone did before Marceline walked in. In a sea of suits and silk, she showed up dressed for a rock concert, bass guitar still strapped to her back. Bubblegum should have been disgusted, offended, any number of displeased and maligned expressions, but she wasn't. She just wanted to know—had to know—about every part of her.

It seemed like she was going to get the opportunity to learn.


End file.
